WARNING: This unedited rant, outwardly, looks depressing. I just needed to get out whatever's in my head, and this post is intended for me and only me. So before you slit your wrists or something, I wanna say I warned ya.
It's the sort of reflective mood most people get really early in the morning (or late at night, if you look at it a different way). As I add the finishing touches to a comic I did for Pat Doran, I glance at the clock and it's 3:46 am.
Doing the comic gives me this sudden sense of nostalgia, the kind of memories that a person misses and longs for: I remember drawing comics back when I was employed for the Daily Illini, and though I hated the deadlines and the restrictions, doing this particular comic for Pat made me miss those days. It made me long for
Trying to get my mind off some lurking sadness that's undoubtedly about to hit me, I browse through Pat's photography files that he uploaded onto his Netfiles. Looking at the photographs left me in awe and admiration, but as I glanced at the background of each one, I realized I have forgotten those very backgrounds... The backgrounds all consisted of places I once knew, a campus I once called my home. Now, it seems, I'm beginning to forget them. My memories of the places I walked to and the people I called my friends are beginning to fade.
It's been nearly a year-and-a-half since I lived back in Champaign-Urbana, and although my last few months there are what I consider the worst times of my life, a part of me misses that place. I suppose if I had graduated on time with the rest of my friends, I wouldn't be in this depressed mood; I'd be living somewhere far away -- away from the suburbs or even Illinois -- enjoying the jet-set lifestyle most college grads seem to be living. But here I am, and when I return, the faces I knew will be gone.
Don't get me wrong, however. I've burnt bridges before, and nowadays I am a stronger, saner individual who's willing to take the future head on -- alone if I have to. It's those photographs -- those damned, wonderful photographs -- these comics, those Facebook profiles, and happy, cheery AIM away messages of old friends who were college friends and people who are now successful that are triggering what I thought were forgotten memories.
I hate that place for all it's worth, and I hate those memories -- they've brought nothing but sadness and pain. But nevertheless, I'm attached to them, and if I want to get somewhere in life, I have to return there.
Maybe I'm selling my talents and intellect short. Maybe I should stop listening to the sad tracks of Death Cab and Stars. Maybe these feelings stem from a lack of sleep or a lack of anti-depressants. Whatever the real reason why I'm feeling fairly down, it feels fucking good to write about it.
But goddamn, if there's one thing I know, it's that the past is going to kill me.
pleasantly brought
to you by phillip retuta Wednesday, April 19, 2006 @
3:45 AM
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